


Nicotine and Love Letters

by Ladiladida



Series: Mr Strike & Ms Ellacott [1]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Crime Fighting, Eventual Romance, F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 14:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14956539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladiladida/pseuds/Ladiladida
Summary: Having completed a case, Cormoran realises that Robin has finally moved on from Matthew. As he celebrates their latest achievement in the pub one Saturday night, he contemplates his next step, well aware it might not be wise. But then everything seems a good idea armed with six pints and three nicotine patches.





	Nicotine and Love Letters

Comoran’s feelings were at bone level now; watching her in her everyday magnificence had it running deep. Sitting in his quiet corner of the pub, his fifth pint sliding down his throat with ease, he pondered the sheer detour of his life from the moment she walked in. Today, she had proven herself as she always did in these situations, some may say it was feminine intuition or a woman’s touch, but Strike wouldn’t generalise her so. It was all Robin; she owed no part of herself but to herself. She’d be at home now, having a nap as he had instructed for it had been a long night and he’d welcome every second that brought her nearer to walking back to through his office door tomorrow. 

But in the middle of all this, contemplating her and enjoying a few pints, he longed to slink outside for a cigarette. He’d like even more to slake the lust for nicotine here. The patches were bollocks, they must be, and she’d guessed as much that they weren’t working for him. Yet nothing had passed between them about it. Cormoran bet she had a small smile on her face as she wandered home though, imagining him battling with his patches, likely getting cross with it. It was a pleasant thought to him that even such a thing would make her smile, a smile about him. He wasn’t sure if anyone ever really had allowed a wisp of a smile to blossom on his behalf, not like that. Instead of a cigarette, he contemplated a sixth pint, but looking down into his wallet he saw the last of his change had gone. A walk it would be then, his well had run dry but his thirst had not. Walking to the barman who knew him well enough by now and whom he had a sneaking suspicion was called Clive, he showed his empty wallet. Placing his phone down like wise he slurred.

“Popping out for some cash, I’ll be back for that and to settle up.”

Clive looked at the model and like many, believed that many would scarper and leave such a thing behind. Nodding, Strike took out a card with his number and address on and he placed it down.

“That’s me if I don’t return,” He explained seriously, “But I will be.”

With the silent agreement between them finalised with a nod, Strike shuffled out of the pub and proceeded to make his way with slow clumsiness down the road. It was strange; his body felt light though moving seemed laborious. During previous years when intoxicated, he was often soul weary as he walked, the heaviness seeming fuller and yet now, it was just the drink that hindered him. Carefully he punched in his pin, looking around and seeing that the coast was clear – though it was only 6pm, and he proceeded to withdraw the necessary cash. After an ambling return, he collected his phone from Clive and settled up his tab thus far, not wanting to dare and make the journey again after a few more pints. 

“Don’t you have anyone waiting for you?” Clive asked, his Scottish brogue low and hoarse. Cormoran looked at him, and then down at his phone, clicking the button it revealed 2 missed calls from Robin.

“You might be right, in a manner of speaking.”

Cormoran kept nodding as he exited the pub and walked down towards the corner of Denmark street. From there he looked towards his office building and regarded it for a long moment. It was strange how something could transform from shithole to sanctuary in a matter of years.

“Robin strikes again.” He muttered to himself and proceeded to move towards his door. He fumbled with locks, battled stairs and dragged his leg but he made it to the top. It was falling dark outside in the Spring night but he was sure there was a lamp on inside. Opening the door, he trundled in and realised he was right, a lamp was on. Robin was at her desk on the computer and as soon as she saw him closing the door, she rose and moved towards the kettle, clicking it on.

“I thought you might be back soon,” She said normally, “I’ve been armed and ready for twenty minutes.”

Without meaning to seem rude but feeling a sudden urge to sit, Cormoran walked to the chair she had just vacated and pulling it out, took it up. Robin finished making him a coffee and brought the mug over to him. He took care to hold it between both his hands and tipsily he blew at the surface of it to speed the consumption. 

“Did you get some sleep?” He asked, a little groggier than he would have liked, his mind still seemed able to put sentences together; he just needed to take his time. 

“I power napped and showered, feel fresh as a daisy now.”

“Then I’m a tumble weed.” He joked, “Blown in all dishevelled and clumsy.”

She walked past him, reaching for her own cup and she patted his shoulder.

“It’s not the first time is it?” Robin joked and he looked up at her, pleased to see that small smile appear. Together again, they should probably talk about pressing cases whilst there were still some hours to kill, but he didn’t want to. Nor should she really be here, it was beyond working hours when they had no plans to work, however behind they were. Yet Cormoran couldn’t be sorry. Robin perched on the edge of the desk near to where he sat, taking a draft of her own coffee whilst he slurped at his. It was clear she was looking at him, watching him and it wasn’t necessarily an unwelcome feeling.

“You seem a bit happier now.”

“I am,” He announced, gesturing a little too enthusiastically with his coffee so that some splashed on to his hand, “Shit!”

“Careful!” Robin laughed.

“I am happier, we’ve completed a case, I’ve been to the pub, you’re here. The snow seems to have fucked off for good and soon i’m going to have a cigarette out of the window.”

“If you ignore how behind Sadie’s case has left us then you really are living the dream.” Came the retort from Robin, a saying that they both used in jest occasionally for really they couldn’t bare it. Her return tonight had been for two reasons; though she was determined to stick to the business related one. Having recently worked on discovering the perpetrator in the murder of a stripper named Sadie Greysteel, they had had to use all the time they had. This had meant sacrificing trailing other parties to some extent. Still, if Robin was honest with herself, very little more could be achieved tonight, tomorrow would’ve done just as well.

“I’ll wait until you’ve gone though… mind you that’s not a hint…” Cormoran assured her groggily, snapping her from her thoughts.

“You can have one for me.” Robin laughed and watched him shake his head and place his coffee down on the desk.

He proceeded to roll up his shirt sleeve, intending to expose the offensive nicotine patches to her eyes at last. Cormoran knew he’d have to explain why he was wearing three as opposed to the recommended one, but there was always the chance that it might make her smile again. However his forearms would not allow the ruckled fabric to reach that far and Robin again laughed lightly when he swore aloud in annoyance.

“You can’t see them, can you?” He asked, still determined to expose them, “Fuck’s sake.”

“Are you trying to show me a nicotine patch?” She asked, he nodded and he held up three fingers, “Is this why you’ve been a bit on the grumpy side lately?”

“There’s method in my madness,” He promised and swallowing hard he hiccupped a little, “Only I think it’s best if I don’t go into it now.”

Cormoran rose to stand but found that the wheels of the chair wouldn’t quite work with his uncoordinated drunkenness and Robin found herself reaching forward and steadying him by the shoulders. Her body was now only a few inches from his face and Cormoran was all too aware of it, concerned that he was swaying to and fro in the chair. To try and bring more clarity to himself he attempted counting the buttons of her dress in front of him. It also conveniently avoided her gaze for a moment. But Robin remained where she was, hands placed with firm gentleness on his broad shoulders and she looked down at the crown of his head.

“Take it easy.” She said lightly, “Do you want to give that another try now I’m prepared.”

But Cormoran didn’t look up with a crooked smile as she expected, instead he found himself leaning forward until his face pressed against the fabric covering her torso. The buttons chaffed ever so slightly but he didn’t care. He slowly brought his hands upwards and rested them on her hips, his fingers splaying out to fix him there. He could smell the fabric softener and what he guessed was the scent of her shower gel and he inhaled deeply, enjoying that for a split second he was this close to her. It felt so calm, so serene and though fleeting it would be, it made him so happy in his drunken stupor. 

But Robin did not move and it took him nearly twenty seconds or so to register this. As his mind came to the realisation, he felt her hands encircle the back of his neck and she cradled him gently where he was. Cormoran continued to breathe in and out, enjoying this moment of true closeness to another person, so absent of fraught intensity yet so sharply real to his senses, drunk though he was. This intimacy had been a slow burn between them, a drip feed that had filled slowly from day to day. With the presence of Charlotte and Matthew and other things and people that life threw into the mix with them, they had been distracted from it. It was no elephant in the room. This was a comfortable understanding of the other, real intimacy, and for Cormoran who had so little experience, it shook him. 

Robin’s fingers began to massage the hairline at the back of his neck, her short nails scraping dexterously. Slowly they moved to thread deeper and deeper into his hair, hypnotic strokes and circular motions. As these wonderful ministrations sent a spiral of nerves endings firing, he felt his entire body relax against her. Cormoran held her a little tighter to him and she seemed happy to remain there. But what Robin revealed here was limitless but with every movement she also lulled him closer to what he needed right now, his own bed.

“I could sleep for a thousand years.” Cormoran said, his voice a little muffled against her dress, he didn’t want her to stop but nor did he want to become so relaxed that he toppled forward. He felt Robin laugh in her stomach, a light, airy laugh, so like her.

“You must need it,” Robin replied and withdrawing her hands she moved them back to his shoulders, easing him back so she could look at him, “Come on, you need to sleep.”

“What about…”

“I’ll get a black cab home, don’t worry.”

“No walking.” He instructed, allowing her to help him up and lead him to his bed.

“No walking.” She promised.

“I think,” he slurred somewhat, trying to look directly at her face, “That you… are a bit of a genius.”

“Really?” She laughed, absorbing the compliment happily.

“We hit a wall didn’t we with Sadie Greysteel, no idea how that lunatic got her body out of the flat.”

“You were the one who figured out who it was, I’d say you’re the brains of the outfit… I just… facilitate.”

“Yeah but I wasn’t looking at the sofa was I? The sofa was key!”

Together they proceeded up the stairs, Cormoran still rambling about the case and Robin’s abilities.

“Poor girl, the last of her stuffed into a sofa base and chucked onto a scrap heap.”

“I know it’s…”

Cormoran cut her off unintentionally, far too invested in his own narrative of praising her.

“But we got him! That’s the main thing, that’s what I mean Robin. I might’ve known who, but you knew how!”

They reached his bed and Robin supervised as he removed his shirt, trousers and his prosthetic and though a slow process, Cormoran finally slid beneath the covers.

“I’ll be right back, I’ll fetch you some water…”

“I’d stopped listening when the removal man was complaining about his bad back,” He continued, she could still hear him from the other room. “But you’re more into home décor than me; of course it would be you who spotted it wasn’t a sofa bed from her pictures. That’s why I need you Robin!”

Cormoran fought with himself not to sleep yet but his eyelids were trying to mutiny against him, their tiredness threatening to overcome him. When Robin re-entered, he watched her with heavy eyes yet contentedly. Placing the water near him, Robin knelt down by the bed and he saw there was a folded piece of paper next to it.

“I think,” He muttered dazedly, “You might have taught me too really like my life.” 

Cormoran didn’t hear her reply, but he was sure that though drifting off, he felt a press of her lips to his forehead. But then he was gone, deep in the pools of rest and happy to be so. When he woke four hours later, still sleepy, he remembered the water and the note. However the pitch black of the room only allowed him to take the glass and drain the contents down to the last drop, then he was asleep again. As a godly hour approached, he woke and with some surprise, less headachy than he imagined. Pulling himself to a seating position, he swung his leg and stump over the edge and moved to fix his prosthetic. Then that note caught his eye again and Cormoran remembered her soft expression as she placed it down with the water. Picking it up and feeling a sense of nervous anticipation mixed with elation as the hazy memories of the previous night came back to him, he opened it.

Sleep well. All my love, Robin x

It was a simple statement, expressed in her neat, curled handwriting but it meant everything. That time long ago in the pub when he told her that no one wrote love letters anymore. Well, this wasn’t a sonnet, but its meaning was clear enough. Such intense feelings caused his heart to beat, they had a busy day ahead of them but this needed a reply. Reaching for his phone, he text Robin as though it was a normal day and suggested breakfast downstairs. The reply came almost immediately and a meeting time was agreed for in thirty minutes. A busy energy buzzed through Cormoran as he limbered over to the sink, freshening himself up as best he could, wishing he had time to shower. Such intense feeling had been so painstakingly brutal with Charlotte, heightened feels of adoration and resentment mingled together, strangling the life out of their relationship. But this, this felt so different, nerve racking yet steady and the confidence of it allowed such long stilled passion in him to bubble to the surface. It had him descending the stairs with a rigour that made his headache secondary to his humming nerves.

To his surprise, she wasn’t at the café but at the street door. Just as when they had first come upon each other those years previous, they did so now. Only this time there was no grabbing, mortification or fear, though there was a shyness and anticipation that vibrated around them. Robin’s unsure hand had been reaching for the lock when he had lumbered into view and opened it. Now she retracted her hand and stepped back somewhat to allow him room to exit. Surprisingly, Robin looked down a little nervously, she chewed her lip.

“Morning.” She said eventually, her voice cheerful but faltering ever so slightly. Their eyes looked at one another for a long moment, but Cormoran said nothing, just continued to look at her so openly. Her answer came by his coming forward and taking her face gently between his large hands, he kissed her. Robin found herself responding almost immediately after the initial surprise. She’d half expected some sort of discussion about things first, but she wasn’t sorry it had taken this turn. A quick thought registered in her brain, was this the reason for the nicotine patches? He has said there had been method in it, but such a thought was replaced with an uncertainty of where to put her own hands. Cormoran slid his own away from her face, moving back to her waist as he had last night and he drew her closer to him, enveloping her completing. This gave Robin the natural freedom she needed to wrap her own arms about him and in that moment on the doorstep, breakfast appeared to be forgotten.


End file.
